Crush Depth cjf-3

by Joe Buff

  Van Gelder gave ter Horst a status report — Challenger was continuing south, at about seven knots, apparently the best speed she could safely make in these difficult conditions, where the risk of a terrain collision was very real.

  Voortrekker persistently kept pace, responding each time Fuller tried to turn — cutting him off, forcing him ever farther in beneath the ice. The tension waS getting high enough on Voortrekker; it had to be reaching the breaking point on Challenger.

  Ter Horst acknowledged Van Gelder's report. Then Van Gelder saw him stare into space.

  "Sir, is something the matter?"

  "I was imagining what it would be like down here." "Captain?"

  "When the H-bombs drop. Forty-eight Trident missiles on those two American submarines. Each with several warheads, somewhere between four and ten hydrogen bombs per missile. That's at least two hundred separate warheads… Above, there'd be the coordinated flashes of the weapon bursts, low-altitude air bursts probably for maximum effect. So many of them, such an amazing thing to witnesS if you could. Then there'd be the mushroom clouds,

  hundreds rising Thick and strong together. The heat, the shock waves, the blast winds, the radiation. But down here, Gunther. What would it sound like down here? What would you see? What would you feel? How long would it take to die?"

  Van Gelder shivered. "I expect it would be over quickly, sir. The shelf is so thick it's strong as steel. I think it would act as a squash plate, and not break up at once, The dynamic overpressure, beneath it, would be instantaneous, wouldn't it?"

  "Yes, I think you're right. Even a ceramic-hulled vessel would be crushed like that." Ter Horst snapped his fingers for dramatic effect. "Fuller won't feel much. It's a shame. A fast and almost painless death for him." Ter Horst sounded tired.

  "Should I have the messenger bring you a coffee, Captain?"

  "No, I've had plenty already… I ought to have rested more, on the way down."

  "Do you want to go to your stateroom, sir? I can wake you if anything happens."

  Ter Horst pointed at all the displays: the photonics imagery, the gravimeter, the under-ice sonar, the broadband waterfall ghost images of Challenger ahead. The navigation plot, and the estimated time to turnaround, to the point of no return.

  "Things are too critical, Gunther… This is one more advantage we have over Challenger. As my first officer, you're command qualified. Fuller's exec is not. He hasn't had his commanding-officer training yet."

  Van Gelder nodded. Because of foreign aid received from Britain in the early Cold War, South Africa's Submarine fleet followed Royal Navy procedures. The second in command went through the training and testing course for making captain before he took up his duties as first officer. He might or might not get that ultimate promotion, his own ship, but he had the preparation and the knowledge. In the American navy, prospective captains didn't take the training course until after their executive-officer tour. Man for man, Fuller's XO should be weaker in tactics and leadership than Van Gelder was.

  "I'll just put my head down here," ter Horst said. "You take the conn."

  "Aye aye, sir. I have the conn."

  "Poke me in the shoulder if there's any change. If not, wake me one hour before Fuller needs to head back north or be trapped by the bombs. Meanwhile, keep up the pressure on Challenger"

  "Yes, Captain." Van Gelder saw what ter Horst was doing by taking a nap: when the time came, Voortrekker's captain would be refreshed, while Jeffrey Fuller would be run ragged. "Sir, should I have someone get you a blanket?"

  "You're very considerate, Gunther. But no, thank you, I'm fine." Ter Horst folded his arms on his console top, cradled his face, and quickly went to sleep.

  Van Gelder took command as the slow but steady chase continued. Minute by minute, mile by mile, Voortrekker's margin of safety dwindled just as much as Challenger's did.

  Face it, Gunther, this is the scariest tactical gambit ter Horst has ever come up with.

  A few hours later, on Challenger

  Jeffrey studied his screens. Voortrekker was still there, following somewhere close behind him, matching course and speed with every move Challenger made.

  "It's like playing Simon Says," Jeffrey told Bell. "Sir?"

  "When we go right, he goes right. Left, left. If we Speed up, he speeds up. Slower, slower. See what I mean?" Bell smiled. "That's funny, Captain.

  Simon Says." Jeffrey glanced at the time remaining to bingo point.

  "We've led them around by the nose long enough." Me fleeing more and more southward is credible to ter Horst, given how he shocked us in that ambush with his Series 65s, plus the threat of Voortrekker's Sea Lion firepower now…

  But to win I need to beat him to the punch this time. "I think we've got our enemy as lulled by this routine as they're ever gonna be… XO, it's time we shake things up."

  "Sir?"

  "He'll be planning something, his decisive attack, for around the time he estimates we need to head back north."

  "Er, concur. He has to destroy us by then or he's Stuck here himself. And that would be the point of maximum psychological pressure on us."

  "He thinks. I'm going to reshape the parameters of the game now. Reshape them drastically."

  "Captain?"

  "Fire Control, change the loads in torpedo tubes one, three, and five. Load nuclear Mark 88s:' Tube seven held an off-board probe, not deployed yet.

  "Nuclear weapons, Captain? With this terrain and theSe short engagement ranges?"

  "Do it, Fire Control:' The latest rules of engagement allowed Jeffrey to go nuclear at his choice — better a few kiloton torpedo blasts under the ice than dozens of megatons above.

  Jeffrey watched his weapons-status screen. He and Bell armed the warheads.

  "Preset all warhead yields to maximum."

  "That's dangerous under the shelf, Captain. Remember, their force will be amplified."

  Jeffrey knew Bell was simply doing his job as devil's advocate. "Maximum yield."

  "Aye aye."

  Jeffrey thought out loud, and explained his intentions to Bell. "We can't uSe a decoy down here, any better than Voortrekker can. The fiber-optic wire would snag against one of these projections. It'd tangle and break. We'd lose control of the unit, and we can't see well enough ahead to preprogram it effectively."

  "Concur."

  "Besides, something the size of a torpedo trying to act like us down here is too small.

  Ironically, with all these reflective surfaces under the shelf, diffraction patterns of the decoy's noise would tell Voortrekker's wide-aperture arrays that the decoy was tiny, hence wasn't really Challenger. Isn't that right, Sonar?"

  "Yes, sir:' Kathy said.

  "Very well. Fire Control, launch the off-board probe." "The probe is also torpedo sized, Captain."

  "Launch the probe."

  "Aye aye:'

  COB took control of the probe at his console.

  "Chief of the Watch, use the probe to scout to our front. Find me a nice, big pressure ridge a few miles ahead, if you can." COB acknowledged.

  Jeffrey pulled a writing pad and pencil out of a drawer in his console. "XO, I want to modify a pair of our ADCAP torpedoes, like this." Jeffrey drew a sketch.

  "Jeez, I don't know, Skipper. It'd take cutting, and welding too."

  "We could use diamond cutting wheels instead of torches to make the cuts, right?"

  "But sir, the heat and vibration, so close to all that fuel and high explosive inside the weapons… all while we still need to fight the battle with Voortrekker? We could have an accidental detonation right in the torpedo room, and do a Kursk…"

  "We don't have any choice, XO. Have your weapons officer get on it right away. The contractors can help."

  "Yes, sir. I just want you to know how risky this is."

  Jeffrey pointed at the red number on the countdown clock. It kept going down every second. "You don't need to remind me about risk."

  Jeffrey cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Meltzer, ta
ke the helm." Meltzer left the relief pilot's seat. He and Harrison changed places.

  "XO, you have the conn."

  Bell acknowledged. He looked surpriSed and uneasy. Sessions took over as Fire Control.

  Now comes the really hard part.. But I have to do this. "Harrison, my stateroom, now."

  Few minutes later, on Voortrekker

  "Captain," Van Gelder said, "wake up!"

  "Eh? What? What is it?"

  "Challenger has increased speed to almost twelve knots!"

  "Course?"

  "Course is due south."

  "He's running farther in under the shelf? It doesn't make sense."

  "Challenger accelerating. Speed now fifteen knots."

  "He's gone insane. He must know he can't possibly lose us like this. The added noise just makes him easier to follow… Helm, increase speed. Do not break contact!"

  The helmsman acknowledged. Voortrekker sped up. Van Gelder felt the ship bank more steeply, as she dodged to port and then to starboard to avoid the obstructions between the shelf and the floor.

  "First Officer," the navigator said, "time to enemy's turnaround point at new speed has dropped very sharply."

  Van Gelder acknowledged. He knew the navigator's estimate of Challenger's point of no return assumed all along that she'd egress from under the shelf at maximum practical speed. Now, the faster Challenger ran in deeper under the shelf — everything else being equal — the longer it would take her to get back out, because the distance to be covered on the way back would be greater. Complicated to think about, but that's why being navigator is a full-time job.

  Van Gelder saw ter Horst look at the navigator's revised time estimate on his screen.

  "He's forced my hand, unintentionally, Gunther. We need to destroy him, now."

  "Concur, Captain." If they followed Challenger for very long at this speed, both ships would be trapped beneath the ice. Van Gelder remembered ter Horst's musings before his nap, about the hundreds of thermonuclear blasts, the overpressure, the crushing of hulls.

  "Fuller must have cracked, or he's panicking, or he just hates me so much he's committing suicide to make sure I'm destroyed."

  "We could still turn back, Captain, and leave him to his fate."

  "No. I intend to murder him once and for all myself." Ter Horst glanced again at the turnaround-margin display. The green number was running down to zero fast. "There's still time. Make tubes two, four, and six ready in all respects, including opening outer doors. Preset all Sea Lions to maximum yield. Fire a fan spread, to cover the cluster of bearings on our multipath contacts to Challenger."

  "Ready."

  "Preset all weapons to home on passive sonar if their guidance wires break."

  "Preset!"

  "Tube two, shoot!"

  "Unit is operating properly."

  "Tube four, shoot!"

  "Unit is operating properly?'

  "Tube six, shoot!"

  "Unit is operating properly."

  The weapons technicians steered the Sea LionS at Challenger. Because the torpedoes were so small and so maneuverable, they could attack at their full speed, seventy-five knots. Challenger was helpless. The weapon wires caught on ice slabs or boulders, and snapped. Van Gelder reported when this happened.

  "It doesn't matter, Gunther. We have him dead to rights." "Yes, sir."

  Ter Horst sighed. "After all that, it seems so easy now… I never thought I'd feel such letdown, when I ought to feel delight. My most worthy opponent, about to perish. We eScape, and the H-bombs fall. What can I possibly do for an encore after this?"

  "All Sea Lions closing on terminal runs… Sir, all three weapons converging. They appear to have picked up the real, main contact. All weapons approaching lethal range on Challenger… No return fire so far."

  "Of course not. We've taken him completely by surprise. He doesn't even have Mark eighty-eights in his tubes for useful countershots."

  Van Gelder studied his tactical plot. "Any second now!"

  Ter Horst ordered the sonar speakers turned off.

  The water under the shelf erupted in three massive explosions. The echoes and reflections of the blast waves blended into. one continuous uproar. Ice fragments were blown back from the blasts with such force, they pelted Voortrekker's conning tower and bow dome. Boulders fell from the roof or were hurled to bounce along the bottom. The ice shelf cried out in protest, vibrating and crackling and singing and crunching wildly overhead.

  More ice banged against the hull. The noise outside was so loud it was something Van Gelder felt more than heard. His brain was overwhelmed by sensory inputs. Everything in the control room bucked and shook. Voortrekker rolled and pitched. The helmsman fought his controls to little effect.

  The ship began to experience a whole new problem. The heat of the fission detonations, trapped under the ice, spread out sideways. It began to alter Voortrekker's buoyancy. Ter Horst shouted orders. The chief of the watch struggled to keep the ship on an even keel.

  Despite his and the helmsman's best efforts, Voortrekker became too heavy in the atomically heated water.

  "Chief of the Watch," ter Horst bellowed, "collision alarm."

  Van Gelder could barely hear the alarm against the over-

  whelming decibels around him. He held on tight as Voortrekker thudded against the bottom, stirring up the muck, scraping against the boulders before she recovered.

  The hellish punishment outside went on, declining only slightly. Crewmen shook their heads to clear the ringing in their ears. Damage reports came in to Van Gelder's screens, or over the intercom, or were relayed by the phone talker. There were repairs to be done, but nothing vital. Crewmen had been injured, but none of their wounds seemed critical.

  When it became possible to shout intelligibly, ter Horst ordered, "Tube eight, launch the off-board probe."

  "Tube eight, launch the probe, aye aye!" Van Gelder said.

  "Probe is operating properly!"

  The probe slowly advanced ahead of Voortrekker. The noise getting through the hull began to die down, somewhat, but the control-room sonar screens showed nothing but meaningless snow.

  "I'll take control of the probe myself," ter Horst said. "We need to make absolutely sure that Challenger is destroyed."

  Van Gelder realized this was just an excuse. Ter Horst, characteristic of the man, wanted to count coup over Challenger's remains. There was no way Fuller's ship could have survived.

  The imagery from the probe came in through the fiber-optic cable. Its active sonar side-scan data was distorted by ongoing reverb from the triple blasts, and by chaotic sound-ray paths with all the new ice fragments and atomic bubble clouds. As the probe neared ground zero, ter Horst switched its cameras from laser line scan to passive low-light-level TV. Van Gelder was surprised by this, but then saw why.

  "Look at that:' ter Horst said. "That red-yellow glow in the background, hugging the roof.

  That must be from cooling plasma from the fireballs." Ter Horst was enraptured. The otherworldly glow faded slowly, and he switched back to active line-scan mode. He also tried to gather data with the probe's sonars.

  Van Gelder was amazed by the, readings on his screens, and by what he saw on the pictures from the probe.

  The fireballs' thermal energy had disrupted sound propagation terribly — the side-scan pictures from near the blast site warped and rippled diSturbingly. The weapons' kinetic energy had knocked giant slabs from the roof. Some slabs stood on end, jammed between the shelf and the bottom, blocking access to the site of Challenger's wreck.

  "I will not be deterred," ter Horst said. "I will see Challenger's carcass."

  So much bottom muck was Stirred up that the TV pictures from the probe were almost useless now. Then the fiber-optic cable caught on something and snapped. The backup acoustic download link was useless.

  "Launch another probe, smartly!" Ter Horst used a lighter touch on his joystick. He felt for gaps between the giant vertical slabs. He sent the probe thr
ough a gap. He turned its side-scan sonars and laser cameras to maximum power. He began to feel his way around, using what the probe's sensors could make out from short range.

  Van Gelder saw a big upside-down crater blasted and melted into the shelf roof by a Sea Lion. There was a matching, mirror-image crater right below it, in the ocean floor.

  Minutes passed.

  "Aha!" Ter Horst had spotted some wreckage. He overlaid the line-scan TV picture on the active sonar picture and had the computer merge them, to try to get a better look. "

  What do you think that is, Gunther?"

  Van Gelder stared at the murky, distorted imagery. "If I didn't know better, sir, I'd say that's a fragment of minisub hull."

  "Of course. Smashed inside Challenger's hangar, then thrown clear when the mother ship herself was hammered apart."

  Ter Horst searched for mote wreckage. He drove the probe back and forth across the blast site repeatedly. His frustration began to mount. "Where is it? There should be more. Much more!"

  "Torpedoes in the water!" the sonar chief screamed. "Two, three, four torpedoes in the water off our stern. Wide fan spread, range is short and closing fast. American nuclear Mark eighty-eights!"

  Ter Horst's face turned white. "What?"

  "Sir," Van Gelder urged, "we need to evade."

  "God damn Jeffrey Fuller. He sacrificed hiS own miniSub as a super-decoy to fool me.

  He worked around behind us while I chased his cursed mini as its sonars gave off recordings of noise like Challenger would make. He sacrificed one of his own crew to get at me."

  "Captain."

  "Yes, yes. Launch noisemakerS and jammers. Gunther, give me data for nuclear countershots."

  "Noisemakers, jammers, aye aye… Sound conditions are too chaotic, acoustic sea state is too high. Unable to give reliable data for countershots on inbound weapons."

  Ter Horst cursed. "Helm," he snapped, "make maximum practical speed."

  "Course, sir?" the helmsman prompted, alarmed. "Course? Away, away from the inbound torpedoes." There was only one direction. "South!"

  "Sir," the navigator shouted, "advise that with this course and speed we will be trapped under the ice!"

  "Don't you think I know that? Gunther, fire a fan spread north!"